


By the Handful

by Nary



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-30
Updated: 2010-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You always smell nice and your skin's all soft and whatnot. Or least, it looks soft. I was thinkin' you must have some sorta lotion or oil or somethin' in your kit. I could use cookin' oil, but it ain't the same…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Handful

Jayne stood outside the hatchway to Inara's shuttle, rehearsing what he was about to ask in his head to make sure the words came out straight. He didn't need her laughin' at him.

When she opened the door he smiled what he figured was a friendly smile. "Hey, Inara." She smiled back, warm and beautiful, and his speech evaporated.

"Yes?" she said. "What can I do for you?"

"I thought maybe you'd have some of what I'm looking for." That sounded wrong, so he cleared his throat and tried to bull his way through the conversation. "You always smell nice and your skin's all soft and whatnot. Or least, it looks soft. I was thinkin' you must have some sorta lotion or oil or somethin' in your kit. I could use cookin' oil, but it ain't the same…" He trailed off, feeling, as he often did, like an idiot.

"I have a wide assortment of lotions and oils," she said, still smiling. "Which one I select depends on a variety of factors. For instance, what it's going to be used for."

There was a pause. "Cleanin' my guns," he replied at last, the lie he'd prepared mercifully returning. "Run outta gun oil, and I can't have Vera seizin' up when I'm savin' all your asses."

"No, we can't have that," she said with a knowing nod. "Come in and we'll figure out exactly what you need."

He took the seat she offered. Seemed the polite thing to do. She bent down to pull a fancy wooden box out from under her bed, and he couldn't help but admire the way her backside looked stuck up in the air like that. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, trying to be patient. She opened the box up. The first thing that struck him was the smell, like flowers drenched in wine and pussy juice. The gorram thing was like a puzzle inside, all tiny drawers. And it was damn near full of bottles and jars. They looked expensive and fiddly.

"Now," she said, "which of these do you think… Vera would like best?" She took one bottle from its velvet nest and held it up for him to have a sniff. It was rich with musk and leather, and smelled like a low growl.

"Yeah, that's fine," he said. "So, uh, can I have that one? For Vera," he added quickly.

Inara smiled, shooting him one of those sidelong looks that always made his cock twitch and swell. "You don't need to lie to me," she said softly.

"Ain't lyin'," he insisted, squirming. "It's for my gun."

"Mm-hm," she said, taking his right hand and turning it palm-up in hers. "There's nothing wrong with wanting a little softness." She ran her fingers over his calloused palm. "It must be… rough for you."

Jayne pulled his hand away. "Didn't ask for you to pry into my business."

"I won't pry," said Inara. "You don't need to tell me anything." She poured a small amount of the oil into her hand.

"What're you doin'?" he asked, suspicious.

"You ought to sample it. In case it's not what you want." She used her free hand to press him back in the chair and then worked open his fly with deft fingers.

"Hey now," Jayne began, "I didn't ask for anything else neither." But when her fingers made contact with his rock-hard shaft, his complaints trailed off in an incoherent groan.

Inara stroked all the way down his length with the slippery liquid, and it felt like silk caught on fire. She didn't talk, but that was fine with Jayne – he'd never been much on conversation, 'specially not at times like this. She just jerked him off, and he didn't know if it was the slick oil on his skin or some sort of special companion training, but it was better'n any hand-job he'd ever gotten before. She had this way of twisting just a bit at the head, like turning a doorknob, that made him wild. He wanted to throw her on the bed, rip that silk robe off her, and go to it, but he knew that wouldn't be right. You could treat a whore that way, but not Inara.

When he came, in a stream of grunted curses, she did some clever trick with her mouth to catch his spunk, so there wasn't even much mess to speak of – sure less than when he did it himself. He hung his head back, drained, until finally he pulled himself together and put his tackle away. "I'll be goin'," he said, oddly subdued.

Inara held the bottle out to him. "Would you still like this?"

"Nah," he said. "Figure I'll leave it here, come back and get it one handful at a time. If that's good by you."


End file.
